


Black - 5/30

by imachar



Series: 30 ficlets series [5]
Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M, Rimming, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-27
Updated: 2012-04-27
Packaged: 2017-11-04 10:59:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/393085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imachar/pseuds/imachar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little shore-leave porn</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black - 5/30

**Author's Note:**

> Un beta'd - read at your own risk
> 
> I guess this isn't really a ficlet, it got away from me a bit...oops

He’s never been afraid of the dark, and while the only time he’s ever worn a blindfold was during the CI/CT component of Command School, that experience had been among the most manageable of the terrors that _torture camp_ had thrown at him. Hooding hadn’t been fun, depriving him of both sight and sound, but Chris had found the sensory deprivation perversely relaxing, especially after the two hellish days of water-boarding that had preceded it.

So when, on the second night of their Risian shore leave, Phil holds up a length of soft, black velvet with a wry smile and the promise of a new toy if Chris is very, very good and doesn’t look, Chris doesn’t hesitate for a second. It isn’t something they’ve ever tried before, but that’s one of the joys of being together permanently now, they have the luxury of experimentation, and after years of encounters that had nearly always been too brief, too stressed and too infrequent, Chris is all about the experimentation.

And, as he’s finding out, so is Phil.

Which is how Chris finds himself kneeling naked in the middle of the enormous bed, his legs spread for balance, his wrists bound loosely behind his back, the blindfold wound securely about his head, cutting off sight and muffling sound so that all he has left to focus on is the sensation of a humid breeze teasing over his skin. Their room at a resort on the Temtibi Lagoon is right on the beach and with the French doors open Chris can only faintly hear the sounds of the surf, but he knows the ocean is close by, surrounded by the damp warmth of sea-drenched air. He can smell and taste the salt of it and feel the slow trickle of the sweat that it generates, beads of moisture gathering at his nape and sliding down the long indented curve of his spine.

With a slow exhale he opens his eyes to a deep, unremitting blackness. There’s not the slightest hint of light under the velvet band, nothing but the bizarre false images of remembered shapes dancing in front of his eyes for a moment until he adjusts to the dark. He’s utterly calm, no increase in heart rate or blood pressure, no suddenly accelerated breathing and he lets his head fall back onto his shoulders, and smiles, lazy and content, as he waits for Phil to come back into the room.

He has no real sense of time passing, the dark silence stretching in long minutes as he breathes slow and easy and lets himself focus on the feel of the breeze against his skin. He can feel the feathery tease of hair stirring on his forehead and the faint tickle as beads of sweat track down through the curls that spread across the flexed breadth of his chest, muscles taut with the strain of having his hands bound behind him.

The vulnerability of being left blind and bound in the middle of the bed while Phil takes a shower disconcerted him at first, but as he begins to relax into the new sensations, so much more intense than he’s used to, he thinks he understands why Phil has given him this brief respite. Whatever Phil has planned for him – and his only clue regarding the _new toy_ is the iridescent blue merchandise carrier, with the intriguing silver logo _Bad Dragon_ , that has been sitting on the dresser since lunch time – is going to be all the more intense if he can take these minutes to accustom himself to the unfamiliar hypersensitivity of touch and smell.

It’s only the sensation of disturbed air at his back that finally alerts him to Phil’s return and in the next moment that rich, fathomless voice whispers.

“So fucking beautiful.”

The compliment is flattering, but it’s the tone of Phil’s voice that Chris loves, that makes him stretch and instinctively lean back in a slow, graceful arc towards the warmth of it, still astounded – even after almost a year together – at the way Phil can imbue his words with such genuine adoration.

The mattress shifts only a fraction as Chris feels Phil kneel behind him, and he barely has time to consider that it must be both durable and expensive – this is Risa, of course the mattresses are the best – before Phil breathes on the back of his neck and Chris lets out a long, low moan of need as his cock moves a fraction across his thigh and begins to fill; the exquisite, slow heat of arousal settling deep in his belly.

“And so very, very good.” Phil sinks a wet, suckling kiss into the curve between Chris’s neck and shoulder, his teeth playing gently with the tendon and Chris tries to stop himself from whimpering. He fails utterly as Phil bites down hard enough to leave marks that will be visible for days if they aren’t promptly erased, and the whimper turns into a deep, uninhibited groan.

“ ‘s that feel good?” Phil pulls away with a last flicker of his tongue over the curve of Chris’s earlobe and Chris can feel the soft exhales against his shoulder as Phil laughs at the pitiful sound Chris makes as the contact is lost. With his hands bound his equilibrium is compromised and he whines as he tries to lean back a little further, hesitating when he realizes that he’s close to losing his balance, but needing the reassurance of touch to ground him in the darkness. He sways for a moment and then, with a sigh of frustration, leans forward until his weight is centered again, perfectly aware by now that the it’s the sensory deprivation of the blindfold that is making him even hungrier than usual for touch. Craving the silky, slick heat of Phil’s mouth and the sure, capable slide of his hands, the warmth of his skin as he wraps himself around Chris’s body and the subtle friction of body hair as they move together.

“Fuck yes, come back here.” Chris can sense Phil, can smell his unique blend of arousal, musk and just-showered freshness, can feel the heat of him and the ghosting whisper of his breath, but the lack of direct sensation is maddening and he knows his tone is a little sharper than it should be. He’s not entirely surprised when Phil’s responds with another laugh and a softly threatening whisper.

“That’s not very polite.”

Chris’s first response is profanity, but he holds it back, Phil is entirely capable of withholding the promised treat if Chris gets too impatient and instead he achieves a quiet, even-toned, “Please, _touch_ me.” And is proud of the way he manages not to sound too desperate.

“Hmmm.” Phil hums a deep, appreciative sound and rewards Chris with a long, slow trace of his tongue up the valley of Chris’s spine, lingering over the cervical vertebrae, drawing intricately delicate patterns around each one until he reaches the hollow at his nape and suckles another hot, hard bruise into the damp flesh.

Chris doesn’t attempt to restrain his deep groan of needy frustration, so close to just breaking down and begging for what he wants. He’s not entirely sure what the rules are tonight, they aren’t in don’t-speak-unless-I-give-you-permission territory, but he’s pretty sure that Phil wants him to demonstrate at least a modicum of patience before he gets his reward. Still, he knows that Phil likes him to beg and plead and whimper, knows that, for all that Phil threatens to gag him occasionally, he’s never done it precisely because he gets off on Chris’s highly vocal appreciation of all the creative things he can do with lips and tongue and fingers when he’s feeling particularly motivated.

Still lucid enough to think it through, Chris chooses the middle ground of appreciative babbling-but-not-quite-begging and breathes out a soft stream of consciousness ramble, “Oh yeah, I fucking _love_ your mouth. Love what you do to me, love that you make me wait, make me earn my rewards, make me…” Until the sudden touch of Phil’s finger tracing a line up his spine makes him catch his breath and stutter into silence.

“That’s my boy, trying so hard to be patient.” Phil is laughing quietly, and Chris feels the reward for his patience in the slow stroke of warm hands up his back, thumbs kneading gently into the muscles that are tensed in the hollow of his scapulae. He rolls his shoulders and Phil takes the hint, curving his fingers over the muscles and working them firmly until Chris leans into him. Secure in the knowledge that Phil will steady him if he loses his balance he tilts his head back and Phil slides one hand across his clavicle and then back up his throat to cup his chin and turn his head a fraction to bring him in range for a kiss.

It is exquisite, all slick heat and assertive control, a deep, wet plunder that takes on a completely unique intensity in the dark and Chris finds himself moaning into Phil’s mouth as his whole body shudders under the onslaught of sudden, overwhelming arousal.

He’s breathing far too fast when they finally separate and Phil kisses the side of his face gently, a brush of lips against his sideburn.

“Shh, it’s okay.”

The whisper grounds Chris, along with the slow slide of Phil’s hand down his throat, and into the thick, soft fur across his chest and he relaxes after a few deep breaths.

“I’m fine.”

“You sure?” Phil is still rubbing his hand gently across Chris’s chest, and Chris rests a little more of his weight on the solid heat at his back.

“Yeah, I’m good.” A brief pause and then there’s a tease in Chris’s voice as he goes on. “Can I have my present now?”

Phil laughs into the back of Chris’s neck and slides his hand down across the furred curve of a tautly muscled belly, going lower still as he whispers. “Let’s see just see how good you’ve been.” The wandering hand makes a fist around Chris’s cock for a brief moment, and Chris shivers, inhaling sharply as his hips jerk at the feel of the warm, tight grip around his erection.

“Shh…shh...shh...patience.” And then the hand moves on and curves around Chris’s balls and now it’s Phil’s turn to whine in needy desperation as his fingers play with the silk-smooth, oiled flesh.

“Oh yesss…” Phil draws out both single syllable words for a long appreciative breath and makes Chris shudder with need as he brushes one finger across his perineum and then stretches to ghost the touch across his hole. “You are such a _very_ good boy.”

With one last slide of his fingers under Chris’s balls, and a brief brush of his lips across a sweat-damp shoulder Phil pulls away and Chris feels the bed shift as he leaves with a gentle warming. “Stay right there.”

Without the constant stimulation of touch Chris calms a little, but the anticipation keeps the arousal thrumming through his body and he can feel the slight twitch of his cock in time with his pulse. He opens his eyes again, testing the blindfold, but it’s just as dark as before, and he focuses on trying to figure out where Phil is and what he’s up to. The sound of a drawer opening and closing is followed by a rustle and tear of paper and then there’s a brief pause before the bed dips in front of him and a hand strokes gently up his chest, until it comes to rest over his heart.

“Ready?” Phil’s teasing, his voice light, although Chris can hear the heat in it, the unmistakable little tremors of anticipation and need that telegraph just how much Phil is looking forward to sharing whatever he’s bought with Chris.

“You know I am, you fucking tease.” Chris wets his lips and then, even as his tongue is sliding over the lower one, there’s something warm and firm and vaguely alien brushing against his mouth. He flicks his tongue out again to explore and then sucks the tip of the thing into his mouth.

It tastes…organic…but he knows it can’t be real flesh, just some very sophisticated replicator work. Still they’ve done an amazing job of making it _feel_ like flesh, taste and smell like aroused male _something_ , because it sure as hell isn’t human. The glans is the wrong shape, a thick arrowhead rather than rounded and it’s ribbed, with a far more pronounced flare at the corona than you’d find on any human, at least anyone without substantial genital modification which, as common as it is, is something with which Chris has no personal experience. He tilts his head to one side, facilitating the slide of his tongue down the warm shaft and finds that it is ribbed too, and studded with little bumps the size of chickpeas – oh that’s going to feel _so_ good when they’re sliding inside him – and he’s still got just enough mental acuity to wonder just what the fuck this cock belongs to, because for all his familiarity with alien physiology he’s never encountered anything like it before.

After letting Chris explore the head for a moment longer, Phil rubs the tip against his lower lip and then to Chris’s frustration, pulls away. Instinctively he leans forward and moves to touch it again with his tongue and Phil places a hand firmly on his shoulder.

“Oh no, I don’t want you to know too much. I want this to be a surprise when I open you up and slide it deep into you.”

It’s the tone of voice as much as the words that make Chris whine with need, his hips lifting in little involuntary twitches as his cock slaps wetly against his belly with every beat of his heart.

“It’s big?”

“It’s fucking huge.” There’s a meaningful pause before Phil goes on, “And it has a knot.” Apparently Phil can’t quite resist spoiling the surprise a little and Chris is appropriately appreciative of his indiscretion – the jolt of desire firing up through his body at the thought of being fucked with something that _flares_ at the base.

Phil laughs quietly again. “You are so goddamned easy.” And Chris feels the shift and dip in the mattress as Phil moves behind him. He’d be offended if the observation wasn’t so totally accurate. “Only for you.”

“Damn straight.” There’s a sudden sharpness in Phil’s tone and Chris winces, he hadn’t really thought about what he was saying, how it might play into Phil’s slightly possessive edge and he appeases gently, “You know what I mean.”

There’s a brief, slightly tense pause and then Phil whispers, “Yeah, I do.” And Chris feels the soft brush of Phil’s lips against his shoulder, feels the smile pressed into his skin, an apology and declaration of trust in one gentle touch.

A hand laid on the small of his back encourages him to lean forwards, and a firm grip on his shoulder prevents him from falling too fast, but he ends up head down in a conveniently placed bed of pillows, his faced turned to one side, and when he opens his eyes to check, the blindfold still secure and undisturbed. Once again he flounders a little, deprived of Phil’s touch until a hand comes to rest on the upturned curve of his ass. It’s joined by a second, both aligned so the thumbs are pressing into the cleft between his cheeks and then his ass is spread and his whole body electrified by the touch of a hot, wet tongue that slides from coccyx to balls.

Chris’s moan is low and filthy and apparently encourages Phil to repeat the act, this time lingering for a while in the shallow indent where the taut muscle that guards Chris’s body flexes and yields slightly under the gentle pressure. Chris arches his back a little deeper, pushing back against the slippery intrusion and manages to groan a soft entreaty. “Please, deeper, please.”

To his dismay the tongue disappears and he whimpers “Phil…”

“Shh…” A finger replaces the tongue, slick and agile and it presses deep in a slow slide, twisting a couple of times before being withdrawn and Chris waits for a second to follow. Instead he feels the cool slick of lube, applied generously in and around his hole.

“That’s as much prep as you’re going to get. I want you to _feel_ this going in and if I stretch you first, it won’t feel nearly as good.”

“Oh fuck, are you sure?” As turned on as he is, Chris is just a little nervous at the thought of being fucked open by whatever monstrosity Phil has in his hands.

“I’m sure, gorgeous boy. I’ll go very slowly and I promise you are going to love this.”

The head is sufficiently tapered that it goes in smoothly – millimeter by millimeter – stretching Chris in tantalizingly slow increments, until he groans through the width of the flared corona and then the narrower shaft follows easily.

“Okay?”

Chris can feel the gentle slide of Phil’s free hand, stroking across the sweaty skin between his shoulder blades and he moves his head in something that approximates a nod as he forces out a whispered, “Yeah, it’s good, keep going.” The last word is a little garbled as one of those intriguing bumps on the shaft finally connects with his prostate and a flash-fire of sensation fries his synapses for a long moment.

When he’s coherent once more he groans out, “Fuck, yes, do that again.”

Phil is laughing quietly once more, and he twists the shaft, bringing a few more of the strategically placed nodes into play and Chris twists and shivers as the sensations threaten to pull him under.

“Fuck…fuck…gonna come.”

“No, not yet you’re not. Not until it’s all the way in.” Phil stops rubbing Chris’s back and suddenly the free hand is wrapped around Chris’s balls, tugging firmly, pulling him back from the edge of orgasm, although the pain is almost overwhelmed by the sweet feel of fingers on his slick, naked skin.

“Oh, fuck, bastard.” It feels so incredibly good, pleasure edged with pain, sensation that is almost-but-not-quite too much, and Chris breathes deep and even, trying to control the overwhelming desire to shove himself back onto the rest of the shaft, to take it all in one fast, brutal slide so that Phil will finally let him _come_ for fuck’s sake.

But Phil apparently isn’t in any great hurry and he massages Chris’s sac for a long time as he slowly, so very slowly, eases the gradually expanding girth of the knot past the stretched sphincter. The need to come is becoming agonizing, sensation burning through Chris’s body as he feels the sweat coursing down the deep groove of his spine and loses control of his breathing, gasping for air in rapid, shallow pants, shuddering as Phil continues to open him. The knot is just as inventively textured as the shaft and each ridge and ripple feels enormous as it slides inside him until finally, finally it’s _there_ , embedded deep, the walls of his channel flexing around it.

Chris can hear Phil’s voice, but it’s a distant, indistinct jumble of sound, the rush of his own pulse beating in his ears too loudly to make out the words, his entire awareness focused on orgasm _now_. And then Phil is moving, the hand on Chris’s balls sliding up to form a tight, slick fist around his cock, jacking him in fast, proficient strokes even as the other hand pulls the artificial dick out of his ass in a smooth, steady slide – every ridge and groove and lumpy protrusion rubbing against his prostate and burning over the hyper-sensitive, over stretched sphincter.

Chris comes in an arcing flood, semen coating his own belly and dripping from Phil’s fingers to pool on the sheet below them and he quakes for a long moment before collapsing onto the wet spot, almost catatonic from the overload of sensation.

The next thing Chris is aware of – and it feels like a long time later – is the dead weight of Phil, similarly dazed from orgasm, plastered across his back. Recovered enough to be able to form coherent thoughts, his first is to feel a little guilty that he apparently missed being fucked by Phil, followed by the realization that his hands are free and he stretches until Phil finally stirs.

“Hmmm…you okay?” a warm mouth presses a couple of soft kisses to Chris’s shoulder and Chris smiles into the pillow.

“I’m great – just wiped out.” He pauses for a second and then goes on. “And sticky.”

He feels Phil laugh silently into his shoulder and then press a final kiss to the nape of his neck before he rolls to the side. “Stay there, I’ll be back with cleaning supplies.”

Chris is faintly annoyed that Phil has left him blindfolded, until he remembers that his hands are free and, a little gingerly, he unties the velvet and then smiles as he blinks into the dimly lit room. Phil has set the lights at minimum, whether they’ve been like that all the time, or he’s just done it to ease Chris’s eyes back from the dark is immaterial, it’s still the kind of thoughtfulness that reminds Chris exactly why he loves Phil for more than just the mind-blowing sex.

When Phil finally comes back with a wet washcloth in one hand and the newly cleaned super-dick in the other, Chris is propped up against the headboard and he waits long enough to have the come wiped from his belly and the inside of his thighs before asking curiously.

“So, what is it from?”

Phil hands over the dildo and grins as Chris examines it. “A Xithil hyper-male.”

Chris laughs in disbelief; well that explains why he didn’t recognize it. “Seriously? How did they get an erection out of it after it was dead? Because that’s the only way any human got close enough to cast its dick. Fuck, those things have claws that can rip a man in two.” He knows that from experience having watched a young Xilith hyper-male tear the USS Tsiolkovsky’s XO to pieces many years before when Chris had been the very young and terrified shuttle pilot charged with picking up a stranded away team.

“Not privy to that information, but if the price was any indication, it took a small army of Rathr mercenaries to take it down.”

Chris huffs a short laugh and then focuses on the weighty length in his hands. It looks about as impressive as it had felt, he estimates almost 30 centimeters long and probably 25 at the widest point of the knot – all of it covered with ridges and grooves and nodules of varying sizes. He raises an eyebrow at Phil. “I guess I’m a little surprised you took a risk with something this size, you’re usually a little more cautious. ”

Phil shrugs “You’ve taken my fist.” And then he grins, sly and a little wicked. “Any way, physician, remember, specifically _your_ physician.”

Chris doesn’t catch on at first and Phil supplies, “I’ve seen your medical records, all of them, including the mission debriefs.” And then the penny drops and Chris knows _exactly_ which mission debrief Phil is talking about.

“Oh, yeah, right, that whole fucking-for-the-Federation thing.”

“That would be the mission I’m talking about. Stef was as discreet as he could be, but really, it wasn’t hard to read between the lines – you got fucked by a cephalopod tentacle that had to be what, 25 centimeters long and as thick as your wrist?”

“More when it pulsed.” Chris is too relaxed to be embarrassed and after all this is Phil, so he just smirks lazily and stretches, lifting the huge dick so he can examine it again. “It didn’t have all this intriguing texture on it though – that was definitely an interesting experience.” He grins and offers the toy to Phil. “You’re going to have to try it sometime.” And he’s more than gratified when Phil just grins back.

“I thought maybe tomorrow night – if you’re up to it.”

_fin_


End file.
